I took the boy out fishing last night and when we got home my wife asked how it went.
It went like everything else we do.
Golf - We walk around with me yelling at him to stop walking across the sandtraps or stop dragging his bag across the green.
Baseball - We have batting practice until I start yelling at him for letting go of the bat.
Video games - We play until I start yelling at him for having his fingers up his nose and then sticking them into the bag of chips.
and now fishing - which constitutes me yelling at him to stop throwing his bait into the only tree within three miles of where we're fishing.
I'd characterize it as him having his head up his ass, but I suspect that he doesn't have enough of an attention span to get any further than bending over before he either got distracted by something else or tripped over his own gigantic feet.
I love the boy to death, but he's doing a hell of a job at making me understand what my father was pissed off about all the time when I was a kid.